Harsh Homecoming
by Mongie
Summary: Erik confronts Madame Giry when she returns to the Opera House after her brief marriage, and learns about her infant daughter. Lots of fluff. No pairing.


**I would just like to say that this was probably written six months ago, except for the very very ending. I was cleaning out my files and found this, so I gave it a quick polish and a brief ending. It's not really intended to be anything but some cute fluff, so don't take it too seriously. **

**I don't own Phantom of the Opera.

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Antoinette Giry was awakened from uneasy slumber by a gloved hand being clamped over her mouth. Her eyes flew open with a muffled exclamation, and she looked up to find two pinpoints of light glaring down at her. She relaxed, even years later there was no mistaking them.

When she didn't move, the hand was taken away. "Erik?" she whispered.

"Who else?" She started at the voice, it had changed much since she had left, becoming smooth and musical. She sat up and fumbled at her bedside table, trying to find a match to light a candle with.

"Here, let me. I always could see better in the dark than you." There was a rustle of cloth, the sound of a match striking, and light flared, giving Antoinette her first glimpse of Erik in over a year.

He had changed greatly, she realized that at once. Gone was the boy she had spent the nights with, exploring the Opera House. The man that stood before her was polished and cold, and the smooth porcelain mask he wore was a far cry from the rough cloth bandana she remembered.

They looked at each other in silence. Antoinette wondered at his severe expression. She sat up and asked, "Erik, what are you doing here?"

He was silent for a moment. "I came to see if it was true that you had returned," he said stiffly.

Antoinette looked puzzled. "I've been here a week," she said slowly. "Why come now? I was beginning to think you'd left." The way he was staring at her was making her uneasy.

She got out of bed and crossed the room to where she had left her dressing gown. She picked it up and turned to face him as she put it on.

He was turned to watch her, standing impassively by her bed. She had just dragged the gown over her shoulders when he answered her. "I've been…working. But I notice you did not come to look for me either." His voice was cold.

Antoinette froze, then finished shrugging the gown into place. He still hadn't forgiven her for what he saw as her abandonment, when she had left the Opera House to be married. "I've been busy," she said cautiously, "settling in, getting back into old routines."

"Or maybe old acquaintances aren't as entertaining after having a husband," he said bitterly.

"Antoinette closed her eyes. "Please don't do this Erik," she pleaded. "I told you when I left that I wasn't marrying Marius for his looks, that I wasn't escaping you. I loved him. For the little time I had with him, I loved him. And he's dead now, Erik. Dead. There is no reason for you to bring it up any more." She struggled to keep herself under control; she wouldn't be weak before him.

"At least you had him for a while. At least you had someone," he said harshly. She noticed his hands were clenched into fists.

_Oh lord,_ she thought to herself, _he's still furious with me_. And she didn't know what to do with him. There was no answer to that. She _had_ left him. She _had_ had someone for a whle, and that was something he couldn't have. He would never even be able to make that first step and talk to anyone, except her.

"Erik, I'm sor—"

He interrupted her brusquely. "Don't feel sorry for me," he hissed. "I don't want your pity. Don't you think I know that I'll always be alone?" His eyes gleamed dangerously in the lamplight.

Antoinette took a step backwards and ran into the desk. With one hand on it to steady herself and one hand at her throat, she looked at him fearfully. He was practically vibrating, the anger rolling off of him in waves. "You aren't alone," she said pleadingly, "I'm here again—"

Suddenly he was in front of her, eyes blazing. He leaned forward and slammed his hands on the desk, trapping her. Antoinette realized with a shock that he was using physical intimidation on her, on _her_! She who had saved him and cared for him for so many years! Anger began to simmer in her mind.

But then he shifted, and Antoinette found that, old friend or not, it was working. He towered over her, and even though he was thin to the point of being skeletal, his presence mere inches away from her was frightening. She pressed farther back against the desk, but he followed, trapping her more surely than before.

"Yes," he snarled, "you're here now that you have no husband to attend to. You're here because you have nowhere else to go. And when everything else is done and over with you _might_ be able to make time for poor, lonely Erik."

His words, spoken at a low growl, caused Antoinette's knees to go weak. Blindly, she fumbled for the desk chair, vaguely surprised that he moved back enough to let her sink into it. This left him looming over her like a demon from the horror stories, but that didn't bother her as much as the anger in his voice. It froze her to her bones.

Was she to lose everyone, she wondered. She and Marius had had such a short time together, but it had been bliss. To lose him so soon had been a blow she had yet to recover from. Even when she had returned to the Opera House, seeking solace in familiar faces and surroundings, little was to be found. Many of her friends had moved on, or were too jealous of her authority as ballet mistress to take up old friendships. And she had been too scared to go below the basements to seek out her last friend. She was well-aware that he had been angry at her marriage. But she had hoped…

Looking up at him, Antoinette knew that whatever she had hoped was not coming. Her eyes stung, and when she blinked tears rolled down her cheeks. "What do you want, Erik?" she asked wearily. "Did you come here just to throw my faults in my face, or do you have a purpose?" More tears rolled down her cheeks, but she refused to break down sobbing.

Before he could answer, a thin cry filled the room. They both turned to the corner it was coming from. Antoinette got to her feet and pushed past Erik without a thought, going over to the cradle that had been partially concealed by the dressing screen.

She leaned over it, her face breaking into an involuntary smile at the sight of her tiny daughter. She was awake and beginning to fuss. Antoinette hurriedly picked her up before the fussing could progress to wailing, whispering soothing nothings and rocking her gently. She checked the clock, she had just fed Meg a little over an hour ago, so she must have been woken up by the talking.

With that, she remembered Erik. She had temporarily forgotten him in her haste to see to her daughter. Settling the now-silent baby on her hip, she slowly turned to face him.

He was staring at the child. For once, he forgot to control the unmasked side of his face, and she could see his shock written plainly across it. The sight gave her courage, and she moved closer, monitoring Meg in case she took a dislike to the tall stranger. But to her surprise, Meg was staring intensely back at Erik with wide, innocent eyes, clearly fascinated by his mask and golden eyes.

Antoinette stopped in front of Erik. He kept his eyes on Meg. Antoinette smiled to see the two of them so intently studying each other. "My daughter, Meg," she said in explanation.

This revelation seemed to have shocked Erik to his core. "I didn't know you had a child," he said slowly.

At the sound of his voice, Meg gave a small shriek of laughter and threw herself towards him. Antoinette, taken by surprise, lost her grip, and Meg was saved from plummeting towards the floor only by Erik's quick reflexes. His hands shot out and caught her under her arms. Antoinette, whose heart had leapt into her throat, sighed in relief. Then she had to smile again.

Erik was holding Meg gingerly, his expression one of panic and terror. "Antoinette," he began.

Meg burbled happily at his voice and reached for him. Her small fingers felt his mask, causing another fit of gleeful laughter. Erik jerked back as if burned. He held her at arm's length, her still cooing and waving chubby arms towards his face. "Antoinette," he said again, "Take her back, now."

She tsked him, falling into her old, easy familiarity. "She's just a baby, Erik. She doesn't know any better." Still, she held out her arms and laughed to herself at the haste with which he handed Meg over.

She held Meg against her, rubbing her back in hopes of making her sleepy again. "Thanks for thoroughly waking her up," she said dryly.

Erik didn't answer. Instead, he was examining Meg closely, a considering look on his face. "How…old is she?" he asked softly.

Antoinette froze. "She just turned one," she said reluctantly. She could see him calculating dates in his head.

"So you left because…" he started to say.

She cut him off. "Because I was pregnant. With Marius' child," she added before he could ask. "He married me as soon as I told him." She turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes. She felt Meg shift against her, undoubtedly looking at him. Antoinette didn't want to think what was going through his head. "I should have told you before I left, I know. But I just couldn't."

"You left so fast," he murmured. "I thought you were running from something. I thought you were running from _me_."

He sounded closer, and Antoinette looked back over her shoulder. He had drawn closer and was reaching out slowly, hand poised to stroke Meg's cheek. When he saw Antoinette had seen him, he froze, and then continued to move forward.

"I _was_ running," Antoinette said quietly. "I didn't want everyone to know I was pregnant. Me, the _virtuous_ Antoinette Giry."

Suddenly Meg's fist came up to rub at her eye, and she buried her head in Antoinette's shoulder. Erik jerked back with a hiss. He straightened quickly, his long frame tense once again. He turned away. "I should go."

"Wait!" Antoinette glided between him and the entrance to the hidden passage. "Why?"

He looked down at her. "Why? Because I can see nothing has really changed. You ran from me."

"What are you talking about?" Antoinette persisted, perplexed. "Why would I lie about that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" he threw back at her. He gestured curtly towards Meg. "I even frighten babies."

She stared at him in astonishment. "She's not scared of you! She's _tired_. You're being ridiculous!"

He didn't look convinced. "Let me by."

"No. Five minutes ago she was in love with you. Here." Stepping forward, she deposited the sleepy Meg on Erik's shoulder. His arms came up automatically, although he tried to take a step back. Antoinette followed him, positioning his arms until she was sure he had a hold of Meg securely. Then she stepped back.

As she had predicted, Meg first made a sound of protest at being moved, and then buried her face in the new shoulder, her tiny hands coming up to clutch at Erik's suit as she settled against him. But although Meg looked at ease, Erik assuredly did not. His entire body had stiffened, and he appeared more to be clutching Meg than holding her.

"Relax," Antoinette told him. He did, marginally.

"See," she said, "she isn't' afraid, just tired."

He didn't say anything, just stared mutely down at the sleeping form in his arms. Ever so slowly, he lifted the hand on her back and softly stroked her downy hair.

"Antoinette, I—" he began.

"I know, Erik. It's okay." She smiled at the two of them.

They stood silently for a minute, both looking at the slumbering baby on Erik's shoulder.

"Why did you really come here, Erik?"

He didn't say anything, but she kept looking at him. Finally, he sighed. "I wanted to ask if you'd be my contact again. Only with a more, public role."

Antoinette tilted her head to the side in query, but then her eyes widened. "You really became the Phantom," she declared. "So you're not just lurking in the background now, you're actually appearing."

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, I had to. After you left, I wouldn't be reduced to spending all of my time stealing just to get by," he said coldly.

Antoinette closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said simply.

There was a long moment of silence. Erik finally broke it by asking, "How long am I supposed to hold her?"

Antoinette peered at Meg. She was fast asleep. "She went back to sleep," she told him, "Just lay her back in the cradle without waking her up."

He did, movements awkward, but his hands were gentle as he slowly lowered her into it. He stared down into the cradle for a long time. Suddenly he turned and walked towards the passageway.

Antoinette stopped him. "I'll do it," she told him, "Give me your notes, I'll see that they are delivered. It'll be safer for you that way."

Very stiffly, he inclined his head. "Thank you," he said shortly, before disappearing back into his tunnels.

Antoinette sighed and tried to go back to sleep. It seemed he had mostly forgiven her, since he had deigned to thank her, but he hadn't changed much. She doubted that she'd ever get any sort of apology, or if he'd ever be as open with her as before, but a shred of their former bond remained.

So she delivered his notes, and kept his secrets, even though the stories grew to include her too, and she got odd and fearful looks because of them. Her reputation was made, though, and no one ever said anything directly to her. And if her daughter was never the victim of any minor "accidents," and if she caught more glimpses of the feared "Opera Ghost" than the other ballet rats, no one mentioned it either. Antoinette merely smiled indulgently at her daughter and told her to go back to work. It wasn't like it was before her marriage, but it was close enough.


End file.
